


A Harpy Eagle's Nest

by ProwlingThunder



Series: Cloaks and Daggers [6]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin Kids, Assassin Kids are Eaglets, Big Brothers, Brothers, Gen, Half Brothers, Little Brothers, Modern AU, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8342995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProwlingThunder/pseuds/ProwlingThunder
Summary: The first time Altair saw Desmond, he supposed, was when the younger was six and he was twelve.





	

The first time Altair saw Desmond, he supposed, was when the younger was six and he was twelve.

Al Mualim had invited other teachers, other Mentors, to Masyaf for a gathering. They had brought their guards and a show of young cadets, for there was to be a tournament of skill. Altair was going to participate, despite his age. His father had announced the participants for Masyaf yesterday.

Malik would be in the battles. Part of Altair hoped he might get to fight with his friend, but he knew he would not. The Assassins here did not need to pit their own against one another for the benefit of strangers.

But the other Mentors and their entourages had sailed in, very carefully, to the Levant, and then taken a narrow, winding path up the mountains to get here. They made it to the gates of the city late, and to the fortress even later, after evening practice had concluded and evening prayers had been said. Dinner was nearly prepared, but not yet, and that left Altair time to talk with his father. And to train with him, in the few scarce minutes they had, the precious few days his father was in Masyaf.

Today had been a hot day, and training had taken much out of Altair. Now, his father showed him forms for the foreign art of T'ai Chi Ch'uan, correcting Altair's stances and moving with him through each set. It was hard in it's own way, different from swordplay or knifework, but he could see how much of the motions could turn into deadly strikes, if used differently. But T'ai Chi Ch'uan was about deflection, mostly, and Altair could see the use of that, as well.

And it was practiced slow, with precise control. It felt good after a hot day.

Until they actually stepped inside, and Father drew into a form that had all Altair's muscles tight with potential energy, and they were both looking at the gates.

Oh. _ Oh _ .

The Mentors had brought their families with them.

Some of them even looked Altair's age, give or take just a little. And some of them weren't at all.

There was a Mentor dressed in red who held a little girl in his arms, a _ little _ girl. If Altair had been that little, he'd still be under the Nursing mother's thumb. But a young boy walked next to him, not so much older than the girl, and behind him walked a woman in red, too, her dress swollen around the middle like some of the women here in Masyaf, and another boy held her hand as they walked. That one was older, old enough to be cadet age, but still younger than Altair. But then, Altair would be an Assassin soon. He was already twelve!

Another Mentor wore a strange black outfit, and the woman following him wore a curious flowing outfit that looked almost familiar, and next to _ her _ was a young boy who looked about the age of the elder in the red, but Altair could not be sure. Little kids all really looked the same age.

There were other Mentors, too, with their families. And Altair could see flashes of paler colors in strange outfits, some of them almost like traditional Assassin robes, and some actual white ones, though those were nothing at all like traditional robes.

He squinted at them from his place, willing his muscles to hold steady. Father had drawn in a breath, sharp, and was staring at them. Altair wanted to know what had upset him, because normally one could not hear Father breath, but he could find nothing out of place. They had come up to the guards and were simply there, waiting as their escorts up the mountain discussed something with the guards and then the guards sent off a runner into the fortress to fetch Al Mualim and let him know their guests were there.

He turned gold eyes up to his father, and tried to follow the other's line of sight. It was hard. Altair was not good at it, not just yet. Not like Malik, at any rate. But it looked like his father was watching the lady in the black outfit, and the almost-Cadet-aged boy at her side, who looked sullen and angry and uncomfortable. And probably tired. Altair bet he was. Even at a walk, the path from the Levant was a long one.

“Father?” His father eased out of the form, and Altair reluctantly followed suit, turning to face him fully. He was still watching the strange, too-familiar lady. “Is every thing well?”

“...do not concern yourself with me, Altair. Go find the other young cadets. I will meet you at dinner.”   
  
“Yes, Father.” Altair gave the newcomers a long, final look before he turned and headed for the student's hall he shared with the other trainees.

He met all except the littlest of visiting children there, hours later, closer to curfew. The cadets, too. Though none of them really spoke Arabic, or Hebrew, or any of the little tongues that flitted around, each kin to one another but each distinct for each nomadic tribe, and dozens of regional languages belonging to the nearest countries, though most of the older ones knew the lines everyone knew in Arabic, anyway.

_ La shay' haqiqah, koulo shay' moumkin. _

_ Nothing is true. Everything is permitted. _

As if any cadet could forget those words.

Altair shared his slumbering room with most of his friends. Abbas and Malik, and Malik's little brother Kadar, and Rauf who was more Malik's friend first than he was Altair's, and Farim, who wasn't really Altair's friend but was Abbas', and another boy named Altair that was older than they were, a full-fledged novice. Rami and her little sister Zahara slept in a different room, with other girls when Master al-Taysir was out, but Altair supposed that could not be helped; so long as they visited, he was happy. Sometimes, but very rarely, the other girls from their slumbering room came in to visit; the Matrons rarely let them stay long though, and they never slept over.

But of course after dinner and evening prayers, everyone was in the slumbering room, stretching out to relax on cushions and blankets, pulling books down from the shelves, drawing whetstones out, or games. Altair could have been in his family rooms, with his father and a second cousin, but his cousin was much older and away on a mission outside the stone circle around the city, and his father had insisted Altair stay with his friends tonight; with so many strangers inside the fortress, he wouldn't have time for fables this evening.

Which meant everyone-- even Rami and little Zahara-- were present when there was a knock beyond the heavy wood door, and the elder Altair, the novice, stood from his place by the window ledge and went to answer it.

Altair leaned forward on his perch that was the table to try to see outside the door, but the elder with his name had only cracked it, and now stood in the gap. He could hear though.

The voice was Sasson-- Sasson had a voice Altair couldn't mistake for anyone elses', it was cracking in all the wrong places, and he was a few years older than the other, elder Altair but the two seemed to be good friends, both novices and both generally seen attacking each other in the training ring-- and it was in Arabic but it was quick and low, whispering. The other Altair half-leaned out of the room, twisting to glance in the hall, and then let go of the frame and stepped back, speaking, and halfway through another language-- English, this time, a world-wide tongue everyone learned, here in Masyaf-- slipped from his tongue.

Immediately everyone perked up.

“ _ Do not worry, Sasson, we have room _ , come inside, you three can have the bunks.”

In marched a bunch of the little kids Altair had seen earlier in the courtyard, before his father had sent him off to meet with the other cadets.

“ _ Thank you, Altair; I had no idea where I was going to put them. _ ”

The novice waved his friend off. “ _ Easy, Sasson; we have space here for a reason. Does that little girl belong with any of these? _ ”

Sasson answered, but Altair had turned his attention to the troop of kids that had invaded his sleeping room. This close, he could finally make them out.

The eldest probably was cadet age, maybe seven, maybe eight, in his bright red outfit that all-but-matched his brother's; the two of them had black hair and bright eyes. Not eagle-gold, like Altair's were, but browner, more like too-thin coffee. The younger brother couldn't be older than four-- even younger than Kadar and Rami! --and he clung to his brother, in the same way Altair had seen Zahara cling to people, like her sister or Malik or Master al-Taysir.

The elder caught him looking, narrowed coffee-pale eyes on him and squared his jaw, arms hooked around his baby brother's shoulders, as if daring Altair to say or do anything. A gutsy seven!

The third boy was the same age as Kadar and Rami, Altair guessed, but smaller, somehow, like Zahara was smaller than her three. Not really shy or timid but cautious and jumpy, eyes neither hawk-gold nor sunshine but maybe honey constantly dancing around, like he expected someone to jump out at him any minute. Though, to be fair, the only reason Altair noticed what color his eyes were-- really, nothing else about him was very remarkable-- was because there was a nice darkening bruise on the side of his face.

Abbas frowned at him critically. “What happened to your face?”   
  
The boy glared sullenly at Abbas and folded in on himself like a house of cards. If he had been going to respond though, he seemed to decide better of it, when the elder Altair- novice Altair- stepped back into the room, letting Sasson and one of the young sitters into the room. Altair recognized her, too; Fadila, the quiet young woman allowed to fuss with Zahara's pretty yellow hair, who always came to escort the sisters back to the girls' room at the end of the day. She carried the little girl in her arms, the sister of the two darker-haired boys-- because the sullen boy with the black eye had brown hair, not black, and his skin was much darker, almost properly Arabian.

Younger than Zahara, but about as big. She slept peacefully, her head on Fadila's chest and little fingers curled in the sitter's white hijab.

He thought she might be drooling on Fadila's clothes, too, but it was hard to tell. Sasson closed the wooden door behind them, quietly escorting the sitter in, and then he shooed Altair off his perch on the table-- Altair got off the table with an annoyed huff that the older Altair laughed at-- and confiscated one of the chairs for her, planting a cushion in the seat and stealing one of the blankets from the few bunked beds to wrap around her.

She looked tired. But as soon as she settled the two scarlet-clothed boys made their way over to her, checking on their sister like Altair supposed brothers aught to do for their little sister, except of course it as pretty much how Rami dealt with Zahara, so he could not say.

He found his attention drawn back to the brown-haired boy, and Abbas' critical expression. “Well? What happened to your face?” The boy scowled at Abbas, and the elder Altair, overhearing, came to investigate. He chided Abbas, chased him back to his game, and Altair watched the elder kneel to examine the boy's cheek.

“That's a nasty bruise.. You're Mentor William's son, aren't you?”

“His name's Desmond,” Sasson offered from the other side of the room, but Fadila was sitting up, like she meant to get up despite Sasson's protests.

“ _ Bruise? Does he need ice? _ ”

Altair hummed. “ _ No.. well, it can't hurt. This looks really fresh. It's not even done darkening yet. _ ”

“ _ It wasn't there when he got here, _ ” Altair put in at last, prompting the novices to look over at him. He was twelve, and he wouldn't shrink from their attentions.

“ _ Are you sure, Altair? _ ” He nodded, which only made the other look even more troubled. “ _ Sasson--? _ ”

“ _ I'll go get the ice. _ ” Sasson was already heading back for the door when Altair looked over at him, trying to figure out what the teenagers were doing. It was just a bruise, they bruised all the time. But somehow Altair was sure it was _ not _ just a bruise after all, or he felt it wasn't. If it was just a training bruise, he wouldn't have opened his mouth. The novices wouldn't have sounded concerned about it if it were just a training mark. “ _ Fadila--? _ ”

“ _ I'll stay here, go on. Altair can look after me while you're gone. _ ” Sasson frowned at her, but he opened the door and vanished beyond it anyway.

The novice was leading Desmond to the bunks, urging him to have a seat. Altair went with him, and they didn't protest. He pulled his boots off and climbed up on the end of the bunk, tucked himself up on it. Desmond barely sat on the edge, honey-gold eyes flicking at Altair on the bed and Altair before him and the array of kids beyond, looking nervous and unsure.

One of the boys in red had wandered over to play with Zahara and Rami. The littlest one, but Altair didn't want to watch the fight he knew was coming. Rami didn't really tolerate people all that well. He focused on Desmond instead, drew his knees up to his chin. “I'm Altair. I'm going to be an Assassin soon.”

“You should be happy being a cadet, Altair,” Altair told him, but his eyes were focused on Desmond's face as he traced the bruise with his fingertips. Altair knew what he was doing; he had done the same thing for him lots of times, especially when he was a little kid and got hurt a lot. He didn't get hurt a lot anymore though. “Talk to me, Desmond, how bad does it hurt?”

Desmond shook his head.

Sasson came back with an adult.

Well, Sasson came back with a pair of adults.

One was a nurse from down the hall, carrying a cloth bag that Altair could already tell was going to be cold. The other was Master Rahman, who swept his strange not-brown eyes over the room. Probably looking for his girls, but Altair felt more than saw them focus on the three of them at the beds.

Sasson and the nurse came over to them. Altair tucked himself further back into the bunk, and the novice shifted to the side to let the nurse have better access to Desmond's face. She clucked at him, said something too fast and too strange for Altair to follow but the novices seemed to understand, and gently pressed the bag to Desmond's cheek.

He flinched away so bad he cracked his head on the wall. And then dazed and dizzy he kicked the nurse in the face, maybe on accident and maybe not, and tried to scramble into Altair's corner behind him, like Altair could protect him from _ adults _ .

He couldn't, but he could try.

The nurse looked positively  _ livid. _ Blood ran from her nose, staining her upper lip; she pressed a rag to the injury, hiding part of her face.

Altair shoved himself back into his bunk too, pressing up against Desmond, using his greater size to hide the younger kid. The nurse bristled, but her lips were pressed into a firm line. “Out of the way, little eagle,” she ordered. Altair wavered a moment, but Desmond dug his fingers into his tunic, and that made his choice.

“He doesn’t want you to touch him.”

The nurse’s eyes blew wide in shock, her words colored with offense. Altair felt bad for saying it, but it wasn’t  _ wrong.  _ “I’m not going to hurt him. I’ll make him feel better.”

“He  _ doesn’t--” _

“Enough.” Master Rahman didn’t have to raise his voice. He simply had to speak, and the words flooded the room, lancing through Altair and the nurse both. He felt Desmond’s fingers tighten into his clothes. “There’s no need to scare the boy further tonight. Leave the ice, Hana. Altair--” Novice Altair straightened, but Altair looked too, surprised to be addressed so directly. “See he gets doctored tonight. In the morning, when he is calm, bring him to get looked at by the healers.”

“Yes, Master Rahman.”

Master Rahman glanced at him too. Altair squared his jaw a bit, feeling Desmond quiver behind him. The Master Assassin nodded and turned his attention elsewhere, moving to say goodnight to Rami and little Zahara. Then he left with the nurse in tow, leaving behind the ice on Altair’s bunk.

It was the first night Desmond stayed with them. The first of several, until the Mentors took their families and Assassins home, and Desmond left with his mother and father.

It was the first night Altair slept next to his brother, though he would not know that secret until shortly before his own father’s death.


End file.
